Return
by MycroftTheQueen
Summary: Another Post Reich. Return. Yup. [TW] Self Harm


_Roses are red, your scarf is blue. If you don't turn up soon, I might have to jump too. -JW  
I've seen some of your poetry much more amusing John.-SH  
Don't do that if you could, thanks.-SH  
I've been waiting for you for years, Sherlock. -JW  
The poem is true. -JW  
Then open the door.-SH_  
John got up from where he was sitting, tucking his phone into his pocket. He walked over the door, opening it nervously.  
"'Ello. Not dead. How've you been?" Sherlock said as he tapped John's shoulder as if nothing had happened, "Like I said. Don't jump, I showed up see?"  
John had a look of complete and utter shock and disbelief. "You-you-you..." He sputtered, resisting the urge to punch Sherlock.  
"I thought that was obvious, you have been texted me," Sherlock twiddled the phone in front of John, "Also you said you were waiting for me to turn up," Sherlock made a tight lipped smile, he'd missed John. Seeing as he didn't have a blackening bruise at the moment things were going well, in his point of view.  
"Oh. You-You maddening man. I should punch right in your stupid face." John said angrily before throwing his arms around Sherlock, hugging him tightly.  
Sherlock made a face expecting a blow, in reaction to having arms slung around his waist he opened his eyes and made a grunt of protest. He was a bit thinner now, his bones could be felt, the hug was most uncomfortable for him. "Was... That... Necessary?"  
"Would you rather I punch you, you daft idiot?" John said, worried about how thin Sherlock was. He let go however.  
"Well it was sort of what I was expecting, though it probably would not matter. I'm used to such by now." Sherlock huffed, slightly grateful John had let go, and slightly grateful that John seemed healthy,  
"You're used to being punched?" John asked incredulously. He was glad that the damage he'd done to his body was...not clearly visible.  
"Mm, yes. Explanation is a bit long. If you'd like me to say it then, could I come in? It's freezing and I believe my unused scarf is inside."  
John smiled, "Of course. Come in. It's still your flat too, you know." He said, guiding Sherlock inside before closing the door.  
Sherlock nodded, whist padding up the steps he noticed little change in the flat, he had a slight glimpse of his room upon entry, it looked completely unchanged. "It doesn't look too different,"  
John nodded. "I...I couldn't change it. You know, in case you came back."  
"Did you pine over me John?" Sherlock said, turning back around to face him,  
"Every single day." John said, looking at Sherlock.  
Sherlock leaned over to John's ear, "As did I." He whispered before springing back up with his natural grace, "So! Tea? I've learned how to do it without burning the leaves now, it won't be toxic."  
John blinked quickly, a bit surprised. "Um...Huh? Yeah, I'd love some tea." He said with a confused smile. Sherlock returned it, he went along to put on the kettle. He shouldn't have brought that up, sentimental talk was not his area.  
John was surprised to learn that Sherlock had even thought of him. Suddenly the scars that littered his arms and legs felt hot and he tugged his sweater down further. He quietly stood and watched,  
"John." Sherlock called, seriousness slowly filtering into his speech, "John tell me you didn't." His finger traced the edge of the small razor he had found lying near the kitchen,  
John's head snapped up at the sound of Sherlock's voice. "Didn't what?" He said, before seeing the razor. "I didn't." He sputtered. "It's not what you think."  
"Legs. Back. Arms. Thighs. Abdomen. Show me. You don't just have these things lying around with blood stains on them John." His eyes narrowed but his voice showed geniune concern,  
John shook his head, backing up a few steps. He instinctually pulled his sleeves down, looking nervously at Sherlock.  
Sherlock took a deep breath, "I've gone through mental and physical damage because of that and I wish you do not ever fall back into the habit." He took another breath before turning to the side, he tugged his shirt upwards, revealing the word '_FREAK_' deeply scared into his side. It was obviously re-done multiple times. "Tell me how long. Now, John." He pushed back down the shirt, hoping John would be more open now  
John flinched at the sight, looking sadly back up at Sherlock. "Since one week after you left. Just a little at first. But...as the years went by, it got worse."  
Sherlock had been telling himself John was stronger than that. That John was capable of resisting such temptations. His expectations lowered to a reality level, "I am sorry." He said in just barely a whisper  
John looked down at the ground, feeling guilty for disappointing Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around himself, curling into himself.  
Sherlock's head dipped down, the only thing he could make sense of with sentiment was that when brought up it always seemed to hurt. He took a step closer to John, "Will you stop now though? Since I'm back? For me?"  
John nodded lightly, just barely, though he wasn't entirely sure it was true. Three years had passed and he was addicted to the feeling. It had been the only thing keeping him alive.  
Sherlock sighed, he stuffed the razor into his pocket, it tore at his trousers and scratched his leg. He made no sound. "I'll help. If I can in any way."  
John saw how Sherlock put away the razor and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It happened a lot lately. It was like his brain just shut off so it wouldn't have to feel anything. He gave nod, arms still wrapped around himself.  
"Tea's ready." He said, changing the subject temporarily, "I'll... Go get it." He nodded and taking the pot he poured some into two cups,  
John watched Sherlock, looking sad and guilty. He didn't move from where he stood though, frozen in place.  
He recognized the guilt, he'd felt that, he knew how it looked. Sherlock didn't know what to do, exactly, but he didn't like the look, "It's not your fault, the fault is mine. I could have found a way to talk to you during those three years, but I didn't. I tried though, so don't get mad at me for that. Just.." Sherlock shrugged, he pulled away John's arm from his body and lifted the sleeve. He planted a small kiss onto one of the many scars and put the tea in John's hand. "I am glad though, that you chose not to end it and that you endured three long years."  
John held the tea, hand shaking slightly. He looked at Sherlock, blinking back emotion. "I could never be mad at you." He said quietly, his free hand curling into his ribs. "I nearly did...end it, I mean..." He admitted. "Several times."  
"But you didn't." He said, he didn't have anyone for him, Sherlock wasn't sure at all what to say, he just stuck to whatever went out, "Stop that. It's fine now. Sort of." He gently pulled at John's other arm,  
The tea was warm in his hand, a welcome sensation that drew his attention away from his thoughts for a few moments. At the feeling of Sherlock pulling at his arm, he uncurled his fingers, looking at the detective, eyes tired.  
"If you need me to do anything, just say." Sherlock's gaze stuck to the man below him, "If you want me out, here, to get you a thing, whatever. As long as you keep away from those sort of things. I'll be watching, and I will be here." He lifted the cup to his mouth, pouring some of the soothingly hot liquid down his throat,  
"Just don't leave me again. Please." John said, voice pleadingly soft. He looked at the tea for a few moments before taking a sip.  
"Never." He had hurt John enough, doing more would just start to pour guilt into Sherlock's mind,


End file.
